


With a Direwolf as His Shadow

by EmynIthilien



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Friendship, Multi, Power of rumors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmynIthilien/pseuds/EmynIthilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam accepts King Stannis’ offer to serve as maester to Lord Jon Stark of Winterfell in exchange for being freed of his Night’s Watch vows.  However, along the way Sam discovers things about Gilly, Jon, and Stannis that he did not quite expect…Sam and Jon POVs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Direwolf as His Shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xylodemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/gifts).



> This story was written for the 7th round of [got_exchange](http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/) on livejournal for the following prompt: Sam/Gilly—Anything where they meet up again and have a reasonably happily-ever-after. Bonus points for a scenario where Sam is Jon's maester, and Jon finds Gilly some kind of job at Winterfell so they can be together, even though maesters aren't supposed to marry. Extra bonus points if it turns out Gilly got pregnant on the ship to Oldtown.

THE CITADEL

 

_No happy choices and no happy endings. The worst isn’t done. The worst is just beginning, and there are no happy endings._

Sam had been naïve enough to think that the worst was over after he had settled into the Citadel and Gilly had safely arrived at Horn Hill. He truly loved life as an acolyte at the Citadel, because for once it mattered more that he could think than fight. Westeros needed good minds just as it needed fighters like Aemon the Dragonknight, the archmaesters were fond of saying. Also, his mother had written him to say that she and his sisters were happy to welcome Gilly to the castle, and that she and the babe were being well cared for.

But that was all before that fateful raven from the Wall.

It was his new friend Alleras who had brought him the scroll sealed with a button of black wax. Sam was ecstatic, at first, thinking that it was a message from Jon. The message wasn’t from his Lord Commander and best friend, though, but from Bowen Marsh. “The Wall is in dire need of more maesters after the loss of Aemon Targaryen,” Marsh had written. “And I have been elected the 999th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch following the death of Lord Commander Jon Snow.” Alleras had been looking at him with such a pitying look on his handsome dark face that Sam promptly fled to the Citadel godswood and cried and cried before the heart tree with its moss-covered face.

_No happy endings indeed._

~

Months later, Sam received a shock greater than the death of Jon Snow.

Death was everywhere these days, but winter apparently no longer was. Winter had suddenly given way to spring in a matter of months. Every maester and archmaester in Oldtown was beside himself at the abrupt change of seasons, for never in recorded history had a winter been so short. From Bear Island to the Arbor, maesters wrote about snows melting and temperatures so warm that ladies were doffing their fur-lined cloaks for lighter garments. Sam wondered what the weather conditions were like on the Wall, but ever since Bowen Marsh’s raven there had been no word from the Wall—or any of the other northern strongholds, curiously. The Seneschal was loath to send out white ravens to herald spring, however, just in case winter was ready to return with a vengeance.

But still, in the ancient halls of the Citadel and along the cobbled streets of Oldtown, people were whispering that the Starks had finally been proven wrong after all. It wasn’t winter that was coming over the horizon, but _summer_.

~

At Alleras’ insistence, Sam started frequenting the taverns around the Citadel on a regular basis. Not that he had acquired a fondness for drink, no, but because the taverns were the best places to pick up news from around Westeros. Or inflated rumors, as most of the news probably was. Alleras was fond of saying that most of the archmaesters were so dedicated to their studies that they likely believed King Robert Baratheon was still sitting the Iron Throne. Sam found himself grudgingly agreeing with the Sphinx. There were enough books in the Citadel’s libraries to keep a man occupied for many lifetimes, so occupied that current events of Westeros became nothing more than annoying distractions. However, as much as Sam loved reading and studying, he didn’t have any desire to become an academic recluse quite yet.

And so Sam started to piece together what had been happening in the wars ever since the unexplained change in seasons. Tommen Baratheon still held the Iron Throne, that was certain, but the Lannister and Tyrell forces were at each other’s throats. Soldiers from Dorne had invaded the Stormlands, flying the banners of a purported Aegon Targaryen. Euron Greyjoy’s fleet had been destroyed by a vicious gale when the man attempted to sack Lannisport, and Victarion Greyjoy’s fleet hadn’t been sighted in over a year. But what interested Sam the most were the stories that came trickling in from the North:

“It’s said that Stannis Baratheon drowned the Bolton and Frey armies in some frozen lake near Winterfell….”

“Stannis conquering Winterfell? That’s old news. He defeated some monster beyond the Wall, that’s why it isn’t winter anymore!”

“Well, _I_ heard that he sacrificed that red witch of his to change the seasons. Or else she froze on the Wall along with his queen. But she’s definitely not marching with his armies now.”

“Stannis Baratheon won the support of White Harbor even after Lord Manderly executed his onion knight. Maybe the fat lord felt remorse?”

“The last strength of the entire North is marching behind Stannis Baratheon, and he found the gold to hire 40,000 sellswords from Braavos.”

Whether it was 10,000, 40,000, or even 100,000 sellswords that Stannis had hired from Braavos, there was no denying that the man and his army were steadily making their way south, winning victory after victory. At first, no one in Oldtown seemed to think anything of the fact that the Boltons had been sacked. But once Stannis had marched below the Neck, razed the Twins, and kicked the Lannisters out of both Riverrun and Harrenhall alike, then, _then_ people were beginning to realize that King Tommen might not be sitting on the Iron Throne for much longer.

All the talk of Stannis made Sam think of Jon. His first friend and true brother would likely have been pleased at the turn of events, even though the Night’s Watch was sworn to neutrality. Some of Jon’s words suddenly echoed in Sam’s head: _“It’s death and destruction I want to bring upon House Lannister….If Stannis can raise the North…”_

 _He’s won the North, Jon, and taken back Winterfell,_ thought Sam sadly. _Maybe Stannis will bring death and destruction down on the Lannisters like you wanted after all. I’m just so sorry that’s you’re not alive to know that._

~

One evening, Sam found himself sipping cider in one of the numerous taverns on the Honeywine and listening to Leo Tyrell. Normally, Sam avoided Leo whenever possible, but he couldn’t deny that his fellow acolyte was remarkably well informed. Some cousin or another who was squiring for Lord Tyrell sent Leo ravens on a regular basis. This time, the letter told of a great victory for the Tyrell forces at Storm’s End, where Aegon Targaryen’s head was now sitting on a spike. Sam had closed his ears to the detailed descriptions of bloodshed, but he almost spat out his cider when Leo started talking about direwolves.

“They say that Stannis Baratheon marches to battle with a direwolf by his side, a direwolf that’s become closer to him than his own shadow.”

“A direwolf?”

Leo shot Sam a curious look and turned his eyes back towards his letter.

“A great white beast with long claws of Valyrian steel, it says here.”

“It’s white?” Sam’s heart started beating faster. Ghost was white, and that accursed letter from Bowen Marsh never made any mention of Jon’s direwolf being killed along with him. Had the wolf found Stannis, taking him as a new master now that Jon was dead? “Are you sure?”

“White, black, grey—what does it matter, Slayer? It’s probably just a rumor.”

“But all rumors have a basis in truth!” exclaimed Sam, standing up from his chair.

The tavern had suddenly fallen silent, with most of the patrons (the majority of whom were Citadel acolytes) staring at Sam and Leo. Leo seemed to realize that he was even more the center of attention than before, so he cocked his head and brushed his ash-blonde hair out of his eyes rather dramatically, standing up himself and slowly walking toward Sam.

“Rumors and truth. Is that what out dear archmaesters have been lecturing about lately?”

Sam said nothing.

“If you think there’s truth in this direwolf business, then what’s the truth? Do you think Stannis Baratheon tamed himself a direwolf, and that’s why the North is behind him? Or found a Stark? Hate to break it to you, but all the Starks are dead, even the bastard one that sent you here to the Citadel.”

 _Bran Stark is still alive, somewhere beyond the Wall. And you’re more a bastard than Jon ever was._ Sam forced himself to calm down, lest he accidentally blurt out some of his thoughts. _Don’t rise to his provocation, Sam. This is only stupid, lazy, Leo Tyrell. You’ve forged more links than him, and he’s been at the Citadel much longer than you._ But Sam couldn’t stop himself from trembling, though, and the other gave him a triumphant smile.

“And since when do you care about what that fire-worshiping stag does? House Tarly and House Tyrell have always supported the _rightful_ Baratheon king, and we’ll soon defeat Stannis once and for all. I’m sure a spike can be found for the direwolf’s head as well, if the beast even exists.”

 _Don’t say anything to him, Sam, for you’ll only regret it later._ If Sam had wanted to, he’d ask Leo why House Tyrell had supported Renly Baratheon while Joffrey was sitting the Iron Throne. But it ultimately wasn’t worth it, and Sam had never truly cared who his father decided to support or where he decided to march his armies. He was a brother of the Night’s Watch now; he shouldn’t care one way or the other. Even if Stannis had defended the realm from the things beyond the Wall while Tommen played with his toys.

With that thought bolstering him, Sam turned on his heel and walked out of the tavern to Leo’s laughs. He could be more productive sleeping in his bed, or perhaps doing some reading in a medicinal text Archmaester Ebrose had referenced in his last lecture. _The Night’s Watch takes no part, the Night’s Watch takes no part, the Night’s Watch takes no part…I don’t care if Stannis prevails. I’m simply interested in learning the truth._ Or so Sam tried to tell himself.

If _Sam_ was having a hard time keeping his feelings about who should prevail in the war neutral, he couldn’t imagine what the past few years had been like for Jon. At first he had envied Jon for having such a large and loving family. To hear Jon talk of life in Winterfell, Sam would have given anything to have grown up as Ned Stark’s bastard instead of as Randyll Tarly’s heir. But when the ravens started flying in from the South, telling Jon about the deaths—no, _murders_ —of his father and brothers one by one by one, well…Sam was glad he couldn’t trade places with him after all.

 _A direwolf with long claws of Valyrian steel…why, that sounds rather like Jon. If only that were true,_ thought Sam ruefully as he fell into a fitful sleep.

~

Months later, news came to Oldtown from every possible avenue about Stannis Baratheon’s great victory at King’s Landing. The man now held the Iron Throne, and no more enemies were openly opposing him. The Citadel finally decided that spring had come, and Sam assisted in sending out the flock of white ravens to every corner of Westeros. He hesitated before letting the raven bound to the Wall fly, wondering what had become of his brothers there and if the Others were still lying in wait.

Leo Tyrell wasn’t saying much these days, and he had started studying with a fervor no one thought he possessed. Sam wondered how much this had to do with the fate of Mace Tyrell: The Lord of Highgarden had apparently elected to take the Black rather than be put on trial by King Stannis for crimes against the crown. Though the Tyrells still retained Highgarden, their vast wealth and lands had been greatly diminished.

And as for his father…Sam wondered if he would be sent to one of the seven hells (or whatever hell the old gods had) for feeling no remorse upon learning that his father had lost his sword arm in the great battle at King’s Landing. _Now he’ll know what it feels like to be rubbish at sword fighting…_

~

“Archmaester Ebrose, congratulations on being named Grand Maester.”

After Grand Maester Pycelle’s death, no Grand Maester had lasted longer than a few months. Sam hoped that Ebrose, the archmaester famed for his skill in medicine, would have more success now that the realm was relatively at peace again. Relatively.

“Do you think I summoned you to my chambers simply to be flattered for the hundredth time this day, Samwell? No amount of flattery is going to make me forget how you fainted during my last lecture.”

Sam stared at his feet. “But you were dissecting an eyeball, and…”

“And it was staring back at you? Eyes tend to do that.”

“I’m sorry, Grand Maester.”

Ebrose waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it, boy. But keep in mind that one day you might be able to save a man’s vision if you know the way that eyes work. Anyway, I summoned you to my chambers today to discuss your placement once you chain is fully forged.”

“Placement? But I’m sworn to the Night’s Watch. I can’t serve anywhere except a castle on the Wall.” Sam gave Ebrose a puzzled look, but the wizened archmaester was busily shuffling through a mountain of scrolls on his desk.

“Normally, that would be true, but I just received a rather interesting letter from King Stannis. He’s released you from your Night’s Watch vows on the condition that you serve as the maester to the Lord of Winterfell.”

“ _Winterfell_?” Sam stared at Ebrose. He hadn’t heard the man correctly, that’s what it was. That was the only explanation for the preposterous idea that Stannis Baratheon even remembered his name, not to mention remembered that he had been sent to the Citadel. But Sam couldn’t exactly call the new Grand Maester a liar to his face.

“Who’s the Lord of Winterfell?” Sam finally asked.

“Do I need to revoke your link in history, Samwell?” responded Ebrose. “What family has ruled Winterfell for eight thousand years?”

“The Starks,” replied Sam automatically, “But everyone says all the Starks are dead.” _Did Bran Stark somehow come back through the Wall? Or have one of Jon’s sisters finally been found, maybe the one he gave a sword to?_

“Apparently the king found a Stark, and I’ll go out on a limb and assume that this ‘Lord Jon Stark’ isn’t one of those reanimated corpses you found beyond the Wall.”

Sam stilled and was silent for a long moment, sure that the most incredulous expression was etched on his face.

_They say that Stannis Baratheon marches to battle with a direwolf by his side…a great white beast with long claws of Valyrian steel…_

“That’s not possible.”

“You’re welcome to believe that, Samwell. You might be correct in the fact that Lord Commander Jon Snow is dead, but Lord Jon Stark is definitely alive. Or else the new king is letting someone else use the Stark name and sigil? You’ll be coming with me to the Red Keep to serve as my apprentice for a time, as per Lord Stark’s request. He’ll be in the capitol for some time assisting King Stannis, and I see no reason to deny him. The Citadel needs to begin building a favorable relationship with this new Baratheon king and his allies, now that the Lannisters and Tyrells no longer control the throne.”

Ebrose didn’t give Sam time to respond. The old man abruptly stood up, straightened his robes, and gestured for Sam to follow him out of his chambers.

“Please pack your things. We’ll be traveling up the Rose Road in a fortnight, and in addition we’ll be stopping at Horn Hill along the way. You should be pleased to see your home castle, I presume?”

~

Archmaester Ebrose hadn’t let the letter with King Stannis’ seal out of his sight, but he did let Sam keep a letter with a white direwolf seal. He stared at the direwolf and the carefully written “Samwell Tarly” for quite some time, wondering if breaking the wax would make him awake from what _surely_ was a dream. _There are no happy endings, Sam; you must know that by now._

With a deep breath, Sam broke the direwolf seal…

_Sam,_

_I hope that you are doing well, and that you have been safe at the Citadel. I’m sorry about any grief that you suffered upon leaving the Wall; I was only trying to do what I thought was for the best interests of the Watch, as well as what I thought would please you. I do hope that you will accept King Stannis’ offer to become Maester of Winterfell when your training is complete. If you wish to return to the Wall, I’ll understand completely, as you’ll simply be doing your duty to the Night’s Watch._

_If you do accept King Stannis’ offer, however, you have my leave to collect Gilly and the babe from Horn Hill—if they made it there—and bring her to Winterfell, where the other babe is happily being cared for. It might be wise not to mention that you intend to serve the Lord Winterfell or to state that you know me at all, however. Ghost savaged your father’s sword arm as he was about the take King Stannis’ head in the battle at King’s Landing. He lost the arm, and I think it’s an understatement to say that your father wants me dead._

_Signed,  
Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North_

The handwriting was Jon’s, that was certain. And Gilly…how many people knew about Gilly, and the fact that she was at Horn Hill? No, Jon was the only person who could’ve written that letter.

There were literally a thousand questions that Sam wished to ask Jon, namely how in seven hells was he still alive? And how had he been convinced to forgo his Night’s Watch vows to become Lord Stark of Winterfell?

 _I guess the only way for me to find out is to go to King’s Landing, then,_ thought Sam. But could he even be released from his Night’s Watch vows? Was there some loophole he was unaware of? The offer to become Maester of Winterfell was tempting, very tempting, especially with the prospect of Gilly living at Winterfell. He hadn’t thought about her in months, though that didn’t stop him from dreaming about her every night. Yes, he would travel with Grand Maester Ebrose, if only to see Gilly and Jon. Sam glanced back at Jon’s last couple sentences concerning his father. _And to give my thanks to Ghost._

 

HORN HILL

 

His mother. Since he left for the Wall, Sam had never entertained the possibility of seeing his mother ever again, but now he was sitting in her solar at Horn Hill like he had when he was a boy. Lord Randyll and Dickon were away, at the Red Keep, Highgarden, or somewhere in between, thankfully. Sam was doubtful that he would have been able to follow Jon’s command to hide his fears with his father glaring at him with contempt and cold fury.

Back to his mother. Her kind heart was evident in the soft curve of her smile and the caring gaze of her eyes. Where Randyll Tarly was severe and demanding, Melessa Florent Tarly was gentle and considerate. As long as she did her duty to her lord and taught her daughters well, she had been left to her own devices as Lady of Horn Hill. His mother.

Horn Hill hadn’t been touched by the war, she was saying. Little of the Reach had been, truly, except for the odd ship raiding along the coasts and around the Arbor. Sam tried to memorize exactly what his mother’s voice sounded like again, and how nice she looked in her dark green velvet gown with her brown hair pulled back in a silver hairnet.

“Mother, do you know exactly _how_ father lost his arm?”

“He hasn’t explained the details in his letters. He’ll tell me if he wishes to.”

_That means he’ll never tell her. Best not say that I know the direwolf that did the deed._

“Are you sure he hasn’t said anything?”

“I’m quite sure. If his condition was more serious or ever worsens, I have faith that I’ll be informed.”

She looked at him curiously, with a kind smile. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Sam?”

_I don’t think she’s lying to me, and because of father she rarely softened a hard truth. There’s no harm in telling, if mother truly doesn’t know how father lost his arm…_

“I’m going to be the Maester of Winterfell when I finish my chain,” Sam blurted out. “Jon—Lord Stark, I mean, he’s the best friend I ever had. I met him my first day at the Wall, and he was the Lord Commander, but then I thought he was dead. I have no idea how or why King Stannis released him from his Night’s Watch vows to name him Lord Stark, but…” Sam realized that he was rambling and likely not making any sense. “He’s a good man, mother. You shouldn’t have to worry about me being safe at Winterfell.”

“I’m glad to hear that you hold Lord Stark in such high esteem.”

“He wrote that Gilly could live in Winterfell.” Sam had wanted to see Gilly first thing after Grand Maester Ebrose’s party had arrived at Horn Hill, but it was prudent that he do his duty to the lady of the castle first. Not that he minded much.

“Did he, now? It seems to me that he likes you as much as you like him. But tell me, how is he related to the late Lord Eddard Stark? All the Starks were dead, the last I heard, since that awful wedding at the Twins.”

“Jon is Eddard Stark’s son. Well, bastard son truly, but I don’t think that makes him any less of a man. It seems that King Stannis didn’t think so, for I can’t see him legitimizing Jon and giving him Winterfell if he didn’t think Jon deserved it.”

A thoughtful look appeared on her face. “So you met our new king while he was at the Wall, then?”

Sam nodded.

“What was your impression of him?”

 _That he’s as intimidating as an Other when he’s angry._ Sam paused, wondering how he should describe the king. “He’s like father, in a way,” began Sam. “He’s very tall and stern, and he cares a good deal about justice. He’s not particularly pleasant to be around, but he’s not cruel. At least I don’t think he has it in him to be cruel.”

His mother seemed satisfied with his answer.

“I’ve never told you this, but did you know that if the ages of my cousin Selyse and I had been switched, I would have married him instead of your father? My father—your grandfather—was always very ambitious, thinking that _he’d_ be the Florent to finally displace the Tyrells as lords of the Reach. How exactly he meant to accomplish this I never knew, but he did put effort into making good marriages for his family. I was married to the Lord of Horn Hill, my sister Rhea was married to Lord Hightower, and my cousin Selyse was married to King Robert’s brother—though not the one who held Storm’s End. Perhaps he thought that if Stannis triumphed in the wars, he would be made Lord of Highgarden.”

Sam was surprised at his mother’s revelation, certainly. Growing up, he never gave much thought to his mother’s family, as Horn Hill’s maester had made him memorize the lineages and greet deeds of all the Tarlys, stretching back to a brother of King Garth Greenhand who had founded the house. Sam didn’t ever recall meeting Lord Alester Florent or any of the cousins he surely must have on his mother’s side.

“Unfortunately, none of those connections were able to save his head, and word has it that he was burnt alive before the king set sail for the Wall.”

_The burning was probably Melisandre’s work. I wonder if the rumors about her death are true, for I certainly don’t want to meet her again._

“Why did you never tell me any of this?”

She shrugged.

“There was no reason to, as the realm was at peace when I last saw you. But ever since King Robert died and the war started, I’ve been thinking about how my fate could’ve been very different. You claim that Stannis Baratheon and Randyll Tarly are similar men. Would Stannis have forced a son to join the Night’s Watch if he was a poor fighter, do you think? I’ll never know. But I do know that I’m content with my lot in life, and that all five of my children are alive and well.”

His mother sighed and looked toward the window, as if she was trying to see something very far away.

“You might have been the heir to the Iron Throne, do you realize that?”

Sam didn’t know whether his mother expected him to be delighted or horrified at that prospect.

“I think I’ll be happier being the Maester of Winterfell then I’d ever have been being the heir to the Iron Throne. I wasn’t very happy being the heir to Horn Hill.”

“No. I know you weren’t very happy. You weren’t made to be the man your father wanted you to be. He might have despised you for that, but I never have, Sam.” He felt one of her delicate hands on his shoulder. “You were my first child—my first son. I’ve prayed many a time to the gods that you would find a place where your talents would be recognized and where you would be happy. I’ll never forgive Stannis Baratheon for burning my father alive, but I know that he isn’t the monster he’s been played up to be these past few years.”

“How do you know that? I thought you said you never met him.”

“He released my son from his Night’s Watch vows so he can be the maester to a friend, and for that I’ll be forever grateful to him.”

At that moment, Sam wanted nothing more than for his mother to take him into her arms like she had when he was a boy. But he was a man now, if not a man of the Night’s Watch than a man of the Citadel. So he contented himself with saying:

“I love you, mother.” _Father would have punished me if he heard me say that, for Tarlys aren’t supposed to be victims of sentimentality. Sentimentality be damned, though. My mother is alive, and I really do love her._

“I do too Sam, I always have.” She stood up and straightened her skirts. “Now, don’t you want to see the woman you came here to see?”

An unintelligible squeak came from Sam’s mouth, which made his mother laugh. “Gilly’s a sweet girl, if terribly naïve about the ways of the world. I shouldn’t blame her, though; I imagine life beyond the Wall is quite different from the Reach. But she has a good heart, and that’s all I could have hoped for in a good-daughter.”

 _Good-daughter.…_ “Gilly isn’t my wife, mother. And whatever vows I’ve sworn or will swear all prevent me from taking a wife.”

“That may be so, but it seems like your Lord Stark doesn’t seem to care if he wants Gilly to live in his castle with you. She’s out gathering flowers in the gardens.”

~

And so she was, carrying a basket of newly bloomed spring wildflowers.

“Hi Gilly.”

“Hi Sam.”

“Hi.” _Gods, Sam, that’s all you can think of saying to her? You haven’t seen her in over a year!_ But he couldn’t stop staring at Gilly. He’d forgotten how beautiful she was, how kind her eyes were, and how sweet her smile was. Oh, he supposed that Gilly wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense—her dull brown hair wasn’t as golden as the sun like Val’s or as red as rubies like Lady Melisandre’s had been, but looks weren’t the only think that could make a woman beautiful.

“Would you like to see Aemon? I was happy when he finally reached two years old so I could call him by his name. You sister Talla has been helping me take care of him.”

Sam nodded, still staring at her.

“And would you like to see your daughter?”

Sam gaped at her.

“Your mother didn’t tell you?”

Sam shook his head. _Say something, you idiot._

“I wasn’t here no more than a month before I started getting sick in the mornings, and I knew that I was carrying another child. I was happy, but I was also so scared about what your mother would say. But it’s all good now, and she’s been as kind to me as my own mother and sisters.”

“I have a daughter?”

“When she’s past two years I’m thinking of naming her after one of the flowers in this garden. I quite like the daisies, and the violets are such a pretty purple color. I’ve never seen none of those beyond the Wall, but your mother’s never seen a gillyflower.”

Sam stared at her in amazement. His life had been full of extraordinary things, lately, ever since the seasons had changed. First Jon was alive, then he’d been released from his Night’s Watch vows, and now he had a daughter. He took her hands in his and looked into her eyes.

“I hope she grows up to be as lovely as you.”

Gilly blushed. “I hope she’ll take after your sisters. I like them very much, and so does she.”

“Gilly, the reason I came here is to ask you to…is to ask you if…” _spit it out Sam, it’s not like you’re asking her to marry you!_ “If you would like to go live in Winterfell. It’s the biggest castle in the North, much bigger than Horn Hill from what I’ve heard. Jon—do you remember Jon? He’s the Lord of Winterfell now, and when I finish my studies at the Citadel I’ll be the Maester of Winterfell. Jon has written me and said you’re welcome there, and that your son is alive and well there.”

Gilly suddenly took her hands away from Sam’s and started twisting her skirts. She had a frightened look on her face.

“Did I say the wrong thing? Do you not want to leave my mother and sisters?”

“Will I be safe in Winterfell?”

“I don’t see why not. The castle is far from the Wall, and as lord Jon will have plenty of guards to protect you…”

Gilly vehemently shook her head. “It’s not the castle I’m worried about. I’m scared of him.”

Sam was puzzled. “Who, Jon?”

“Every time you talk to me about him, he has a different name. First he’s the brother to a king, then he’s the Lord Crow, and now he’s the lord of this winter castle I’ve never seen. He didn’t try to help me beyond the Wall, and then he made me give up my son, the son who I’d saved from the White Walkers—the son that _you_ saved with me. You always said that Jon was brave, but you’re the bravest man I’ve met. Why should I trust him? Is he going to take my daughter away from me, or Aemon?”

_Gods, Jon doesn’t come off too well from Gilly’s perspective, and I can’t blame her. But I can’t totally blame Jon for what he did, either._

“Jon…the Jon I remember isn’t a cruel man, and I don’t think he ever wanted to take your son away from you. He just wanted to save Dalla’s boy, Aemon, I mean, from Lady Melisandre’s fires. And he says that your son is okay, so at least he kept his word that he would keep the babe safe? I’d have likely died my first week on the Wall if it weren’t for him, and I trust him with my life.”

Gilly didn’t look very convinced, and Sam didn’t know _what_ more he could say to convince her. He was horrible at these kinds of things. And he couldn’t get over the idea that Gilly actually liked him and thought him brave. Then an idea came to him.

“Would you go to Winterfell for me? In a few years that’s where I’ll be living if the gods are good. And if…if you don’t like Jon, I don’t think he’ll mind. I think you’ll be safer living at Winterfell than you will be living here when my father returns.”

“Your mother loves your father and says he loves her, but she told me he’s never loved you very much.”

 _My father threatened to kill me if I didn’t take the Black. But Gilly doesn’t need to know that._ “No, he hasn’t.”

“Then I’ll go to Winterfell. For my son. And for you.”

Sam didn’t know what to say. So instead he kissed her.

 

THE RED KEEP

 

After close to a month of riding, Sam was relieved to see the red towers of the Red Keep jutting high into the sky. He was even thankful to encounter the stench of the city, if that was possible, for that meant he wouldn’t have to sit a horse day in and day out for quite some time. Grand Maester Ebrose, who had an enormous amount of stamina for a man of his age, seemed pleased to be at the end of the journey too.

Of course, as their party from the Citadel waited to enter the city via the King’s Gate, Ebrose felt that the time was right to give Sam another lecture. The man already missed teaching roomfuls of acolytes every day, but Sam was as good a substitute for that as any.

“A word of advice to you, Samwell, before you get too caught up in the tumultuous affairs of the Red Keep: A maester of the Citadel is sworn to a castle, not a lord. While we may serve a lord and his family, we are not to become too attached. Much like the brothers of the Night’s Watch, maesters do their best work when they remain neutral and do not concern themselves with the affairs of the realm.”

“So you think that becoming too attached to the Lord of Winterfell will be one of my vices, a hindrance to my service?” Sam wondered if Gilly would be mentioned. Grand Maester Ebrose hadn’t _said_ anything when she left Horn Hill with them, seemingly accepting Sam’s explanation that he was carrying out Lord Stark’s orders, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t astute enough to put two and two together.

“I did not say that, and that is not for me to judge. I have never met Lord Stark, nor have I ever seen you interact with him. But I did witness your distraction and your sadness when you learned of his supposed death.”

 _He’s only talking about Jon, not Gilly, thank the gods._ Sam looked down at his feet, letting Ebrose continue speaking.

“The reason I bring this matter to your attention is because I was reminded of a friend from back when I was still forging my chain. Cressen was ten years my elder and had forged his silver link in medicine in record time—that was how brilliant he was. The archmaesters decided to place him at Storm’s End, and many were jealous of him for receiving such a prestigious placement. Do you know what happened to Maester Cressen, Samwell?”

Sam had an idea about where this story was going, and he wondered if this Cressen had met some tragic end. “No, Grand Maester.”

“Maester Cressen ended his days as the Maester of Dragonstone. He grew too attached to the second son of Lord Steffon Baratheon, and as a result he refused to remain at Storm’s End when the same son was granted a lordship elsewhere. The Citadel was very angry with him and had the audacity to threaten to strip Cressen of his chain. Whether they would have carried out their threat is something no one knows, as the second son had a powerful older brother that the Citadel was loath to cross.”

 _The second son of Lord Steffon Baratheon._ “You’re talking about King Stannis, aren’t you?”

“Yes and no. Maester Cressen’s remarkable loyalty tells me that this new king has a character worth following, despite some of the disturbing rumors that have been spread about him—which must have some basis in truth, however slight. I hope you have similar reasons for wanting to follow your Lord Commander from the Wall to Winterfell, not simply to be relieved of your Night’s Watch vows.”

_I hope so too. I wonder if Jon is still the same man I respected enough to make Lord Commander. And if he’s become as hard as Lord Snow was when I left him._

~

The thing that Gilly loved most about the Red Keep was all the banners flying everywhere. She had been enchanted by them ever since coming to the Wall. To Sam, the banners told him a great deal about the political situation without even needing to talk to anyone. The crowned black stag on gold was everywhere, though curiously no stags were being swallowed by flaming hearts. A grey direwolf— _Jon’s sigil now, it must be_ —shared equal prominence with a merman, and there were assorted sigils from most all the powerful houses in Westeros with the notable exceptions of the golden lion and golden rose.

As soon as Grand Maester Ebrose and Gilly had been settled in their chambers, Sam was accosted by two men who he hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. Pyp couldn’t stop talking about life at the Red Keep, and Grenn remained stoic and silent by his side. It took Sam a while to realize that the pair wore grey cloaks trimmed with white instead of black ones, and he wondered at that.

“What are you guys doing here, so far from the Wall? Are you recruiting for the Night’s Watch, or are you on some other mission for your Lord Commander?”

Pyp shot a grin at Grenn.

“You could say that. Or you could ask us if King Stannis released us from our Night’s Watch vows so long as we continue to serve and protect our true Lord Commander. No matter if he no longer holds the title after the mutiny at the Wall.”

 _Mutiny. That explains it. There must have been a mutiny like the one at Craster’s Keep, with Jon escaping and his enemies announcing to Westeros that he’d been killed. And Pyp and Grenn must have escaped with Jon._ But Sam still thought he was missing something.

“I didn’t think any king could do that? Simply release a sworn brother from the Night’s Watch?”

Pyp shrugged. “The new Warden of the North isn’t going to call for my head anytime soon, so I won’t argue about insignificant details such as that.”

“So how is Jon?” Sam had so many questions he wanted to ask Pyp and Grenn, but there’d be plenty of time for those, and he had to start somewhere.

“Jon? Jon?” Pyp screwed up his face. “Do we know anyone named Jon, Grenn?”

“He means the former Lord Commander.”

“Ah, the Great Lord Stark, to be sure. Descendent of the old Kings of Winter, wielder of a Valyrian steel sword, and master of a direwolf as silent and vicious as winter itself.”

Sam couldn’t tell if Pyp was being serious or not.

“How is he, you ask? Well, he’s less frosty than Lord Snow, isn’t that right, Grenn?”

“Walking out of your own funeral pyre will do that to you.”

“His own _funeral_ …?” Sam began, but Pyp cut him off.

“Though not to give you the impression that Lord Stark has turned into the jolly cousin Dolorous Edd always wanted but never had, he does have his days where the king smiles more than him.”

“But…” stammered Sam, trying to make sense of all the things that Pyp and Grenn were throwing at him, “But King Stannis doesn’t smile. _Ever_.”

Pyp gave a loud sigh and rolled his eyes at Grenn. “Whatever are we to do with him? Those old maesters don’t teach you how to make jokes at the Citadel? There certainly should be a link on your chain for that!”

“They…no. They don’t.” Sam didn’t know how to explain to his brothers— _I suppose they’re still my brothers?_ —about what life at the Citadel was like; all the studying, the rivalries between the acolytes, the politicking among the archmaesters….But what he did know was that he had missed the camaraderie at the Wall. Things were so much simpler there. _Well, aside from the Others._

“I’m simply happy to see you guys again,” finished Sam with a smile.

“You too, Maester Slayer,” said Pyp as he clapped Sam on the shoulder.

“I’m not a maester yet! I still have many more years of training and studying and….”

“You’re more a maester now than I’ll ever be,” countered Grenn. “You’ll be the Maester of Winterfell one day, and that sounds pretty impressive to a farmer’s son from the Riverlands.”

Pyp whispered something to Grenn, all the while pointing to something behind Sam.

“What?”

“Nothing, just that the wolves of Winterfell likely can’t wait for you to take up residence there.”

Sam felt a tug on his cloak and spun around, finding a pair of blood-red eyes silently watching him. Ghost was now the size of a small horse, and when the direwolf yawned Sam was treated to a view of terrifyingly sharp teeth.

“Ghost! I never thought I’d see you again!” He held out a hand, which was promptly licked before it started ruffling the wolf’s white fur. “Did you know that you’re famous throughout the seven kingdoms? Apparently your claws are made of Valyrian steel.”

“Are they, now?”

Sam sucked in a breath as a scarred hand joined his in stroking Ghost’s fur. Sam’s eyes traveled slowly from the scarred hand to the arm that supported it, up to a neck with an even worse scar, and then finally to a face framed with dark hair sporting a downright hideous scar stretching from its right eye across its nose. Jon’s eyes had a measure of sadness in them, as if they had known more pain and suffering than most had seen in a lifetime. But he was smiling. And Sam hadn’t realized how much he had missed that smile.

“Lord St…St…Stark.”

Jon tilted his head and regarded Sam peculiarly, as if he couldn’t quite believe that Sam was calling him that.

“I’m glad to see you, Sam.” Jon’s smile widened. He adjusted his grey cloak trimmed with white fur. “It seems that I’m not the only man of the Night’s Watch who broke his vows with a wildling girl.”

“Sam the Seducer!” hooted Pyp, but a glare from Jon silenced him.

Sam looked away from Jon, a wave of shame washing over him. Pyp’s leering grin wasn’t helping. He had told Jon of Gilly’s, _his_ , daughter when he had written to accept the position of Maester of Winterfell without a second thought. “You’re not angry, are you?”

Ghost nuzzled his hand once more, while Jon silently shook his head.

“You’re alive. And you’re here. That’s good enough for me.”

~

Jon’s chambers in the Red Keep had large windows and balconies that afforded one a spectacular view north. There was nothing else of note to say about them, other than the fact that they were quite near to the tower with the ungodly steep stairs that the king had decided to inhabit. Sam soon became familiar with both sets of rooms, as he spent much of his free time (that he didn’t spend with Gilly) talking with Jon in his solar and plenty more time climbing the stairs of the king’s tower to deliver ravens and messages from Grand Maester Ebrose.

Jon had changed. And not just physically, though he had grown tall enough to start wearing Longclaw at his hip instead of over his shoulder. Yet Sam couldn’t quite decide on how he had changed, exactly. Jon was more confident and surer of his position as Lord Stark than Sam had known him to be of his position as Lord Commander. He listened to others more, and his glare could intimidate everyone except the king. _Or perhaps that’s just Ghost, who never leaves his side._

Pyp hadn’t been joking when he had described Jon as “The Great Lord Stark.” Find a northman, and he’d tell you how his liege lord was Eddard Stark reborn. Jon _had_ died as Bowen Marsh reported, but somehow he had walked out of his funeral pyre and gloriously said to hell with the Night’s Watch and ridden south to help the king eliminate the Boltons once and for all. Once at Winterfell, according to any king’s man or former queen’s man, Stannis had legitimized Jon and given him rule over the castle, so long as he helped the king destroy his enemies to both the north and south of the Wall.

Jon told the same tales differently, and with much less pride and no pleasure.

“I’d still be on the Wall if my own brothers hadn’t killed me. I was the Lord Commander, and I had sworn oaths to protect the realm from the Wall for the rest of my days.”

“Then why did you leave the Wall for Winterfell? And did you really say ‘To hell with the Night’s Watch’?”

“Not exactly,” Jon began, and he frowned. “Though I might have said something along those lines to Melisandre when she swore I was Azor Ahai reborn and this Prince that was Promised. Bowen Marsh and enough of his cronies had made it clear that I was no longer the Lord Commander or a brother of the Night’s Watch, and technically I didn’t have to be according to my vows because I _had_ served until my death. So I marched off to Winterfell with any who would follow me to put a sword through Ramsay Snow’s throat.”

“It was Stannis who ultimately did that, right?”

“No, Stannis beheaded Roose Bolton, not Ramsay. It was Theon Greyjoy who killed the bastard, before dying of his own wounds and a broken heart.” Ghost was currently dozing at Jon’s feet, and Jon bent down to scratch behind the wolf’s ears.

Sam didn’t inquire further on that matter, though he felt it odd that Jon referred to the man who had previously burned Winterfell and killed his brothers with sadness. Perhaps Greyjoy wasn’t guilty of all the crimes that people gave him credit for.

“I should congratulate you on becoming Lord Stark, at least,” said Sam, trying to shift the conversation from death. “From what you’ve told me of them, your father and siblings would be proud of you. King Stannis seems to have a lot of respect for you.”

One rumor that definitely was true as far as Sam could tell was that Jon was closer to Stannis than the king’s own shadow most of the time. The two were rarely seen walking around the Red Keep without the other, and a white direwolf usually wasn’t far behind. Jon could’ve been a member of the Kingsguard, except that his cloak was grey and he would sometimes walk _beside_ the king, rather than a few steps behind him.

“You think he respects me?” Jon’s mood seemed to lighten, and it always did when he spoke to Sam about the king. “Grudgingly, at best. He had to offer Winterfell to me three times before I eventually accepted, and even then it was on my terms. That vexed him greatly, to put it mildly.”

“What do you mean, your terms?” wondered Sam.

“I agreed to become Lord Jon Stark of Winterfell because it was my duty as the last living child of Eddard Stark. I didn’t have a place in the Night’s Watch anymore, and where else could I have gone? I told the king that I would take his offer only if I could keep my own gods, marry whomever I choose, and most importantly relinquish my name and titles if any of my trueborn siblings are found.”

“And Stannis agreed to all of that?” _He doesn’t strike me as the type of man to bend to someone else’s demands very easily. Especially Jon’s last request._

Jon gave him a wolfish grin.

“I’d gotten to know Stannis a bit by then. Not very well at any rate, but I understood enough of his grudges and motivations to form an argument that he couldn’t dispute. I simply told him that I had no wish to deny my trueborn siblings of the inheritance that should be theirs by rights. So Stannis ground his teeth, scoffed, and muttered about the insolence of Starks, bastards, and Stark bastards. But he agreed to my demands in the end.”

Ghost yawned and sat up, moving so that he could nuzzle his master’s shoulder. Jon put an arm around his wolf, smiling warmly into his fur.

“I think my father would be proud of that.”

~

As apprentice to the Grand Maester, Sam often found himself at small council meetings. Apparently, Ebrose needed someone to take notes for him, despite the fact that he never forgot a word that was spoken during them. When Sam brought up the matter, Ebrose merely smiled.

“I might remember everything that the lords say, just like I remember every corpse that I’ve dissected. But you, my boy, have a different perspective on things, and you might decide to give more importance to a matter I think is inconsequential. I want to teach you how to _think_ , for being a maester is more than remembering what you read in a book.”

The first time Sam had attended a small council, he noticed that the chair to King Stannis’ right remained empty for the duration of the session. (Jon, Sam observed, sat to the king’s left, even though he was only a temporary member of the council until he travelled back to Winterfell.) It then occurred to him that he had yet to meet the Lord Hand, so he questioned Jon about that when he next talked to him on the balcony off of Jon’s solar.

“Is Stannis’ Hand in King’s Landing? I heard that he also rose from the dead, like you. Well, not like you, but that Lord Manderly lied about executing him to thwart the Lannisters.”

“Lord Seaworth? He sailed to Cape Wrath a while back, to collect his wife and two youngest sons from his keep there. He’s also assessing the state of the Stormlands, as Stannis is quite tied up in King’s Landing. You’ll like Davos, Sam. He’s very kind.”

“Is he much like the king?” An image of a tall, serious, stern man dressed like a pirate—was there much difference between a smuggler and a pirate?—came to Sam’s mind.

“Not at all,” replied Jon immediately. Then he paused. “Well, I take that back. They have more in common than people think. Both men are very reserved, and neither has learned how to conceal the truth with flowery language. Davos complements Stannis very well, I think, because he knows how to empathize and show compassion toward others. Not that Stannis _doesn’t_ have it in him to be kind, mind you, it just doesn’t…”

“It just doesn’t come naturally to him.”

Jon began to laugh, though Sam didn’t think he was laughing at the king.

“Arya and I used to finish each other’s sentences,” Jon explained. “You’ll like her too, Sam, when you meet her someday.”

“I hope so too, Lord Stark.” _He still has so much hope that he’ll see Arya again, and all of his siblings. I’d tell you about Bran, if I hadn’t sworn so many oaths to keep his survival a secret._

“Did you know that he found my youngest brother Rickon? That’s why Lord Manderly eventually supported Stannis. However, Rickon caught a horrible cold and died of it at White Harbor, and now his black direwolf follows Davos everywhere he goes.”

 _When winter came to Westeros, it hit the Starks worst of all._ Sam was beginning to understand the inherent sadness that he first saw in Jon’s eyes more acutely as time went on. Jon talked some more about the king’s onion knight, which piqued Sam’s interest as to why Stannis and Davos had remained so close for so long. And trusted each other implicitly, according to Jon.

“King Stannis trusts Lord Seaworth more than anyone else. Sometimes I think Davos is the only person who Stannis truly trusts.”

“You don’t think Stannis trusts you?” Sam thought that was obvious.

Jon was silent for a while, a longer while than Sam would’ve thought. He walked to the railing of the balcony, burying his scarred hand in Ghost’s fur.

“Perhaps,” Jon finally said.

Sam stared back at him and tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice when he responded: “But you’ve fought at his side, and Ghost saved his life. He’s given you Winterfell and most everything else that you’ve asked of him. Why _wouldn’t_ you be absolutely sure that you have his trust?”

Jon gave a short laugh, shook his head, and, oddly, blushed.

“I…Stannis…It can take many years to fully trust someone, and knowing what Stannis has been through during his life, all the times he’s been betrayed by those close to him…as much as I’d like to think he trusts me, I can’t take it for granted. I made that mistake before when I thought that my father would be the Lord of Winterfell until he was old and grey, and that Robb would be the Lord of Winterfell after him.”

~

Sam cursed himself as he nearly tripped over his cloak for the second time in as many minutes. Sam had been preparing to retire for the night, but then Grand Maester Ebrose had need of him. Okay, fine, that wasn’t unusual in and of itself. But the need was to deliver a message to the king immediately, for a raven had just flown in from Cape Wrath. Oh, Sam had no idea if the message was urgent or not, but it went without saying that King Stannis wished to see anything from his Lord Hand immediately. And so Sam found himself traversing what felt like half of the halls in the Red Keep late at night.

Ser Rolland Storm of the Kingsguard was standing at the entrance to the king’s rooms. Sam liked the man, and he was coming to find that the bastards (and others of similar low birth) in the king’s service were often more honorable than the lords, for they had had to _earn_ their position. Or maybe Sam was just assuming things.

“What brings you here at this hour, Sam?” asked Ser Rolland amiably.

Sam held up the message with a button of grey wax impressed with the sigil of a ship. “I hope it isn’t too late to be disturbing the king, but this just arrived.”

Ser Rolland considered the ship sigil. “Lord Seaworth is to be admitted to the king at all hours of the day or night. King Stannis rarely sleeps and never seems the worse for it, remarkably.”

Sam expected the knight to open the door behind him, but he was making no move to do so.

“I do warn you, Sam, that the king is currently talking to Lord Stark—who also never seems to sleep—and will probably be irate at being interrupted.”

“Nothing I can’t handle, Ser,” said Sam with a tired smile. _Though if it were my_ father _I was interrupting, that would be a different matter entirely._ He wasn’t surprised that Jon wasn’t sleeping much. Even before being elected Lord Commander, Jon hadn’t been one to stay in bed more than six hours a night, and often he’d give up on sleep and walk the Wall until most of Castle Black had woken up.

Ser Rolland opened the door and Sam began the tiring climb up the blasted spiral staircase. Not for the first time, Sam wondered if the king had elected to take these rooms just to exhaust anyone wishing to visit him.

Ghost was sprawled before the door to the king’s solar, which was cracked open about half a foot. Upon noticing Sam, Ghost instantly lifted his head and nudged his hand, demanding to be petted. Sam indulged the wolf, as always, for he’d rather not be treated to a menacing view of more sharp teeth than he cared to count.

Sam was going to knock on the door, but since Ghost was blocking the way and refusing to move, he peered through the opening in the meantime. Both Jon and King Stannis were standing at a southeast facing window, which during the day had a dramatic view of Blackwater Bay and the Stormlands beyond. Jon was leaning back against the windowsill, arms crossed with his head resting on the frame. The king was more relaxed than Sam had ever seen the man. Though he was standing as still as a statue, there was no apparent tension in his shoulders, and his hands rested on the windowsill without visibly trying to crumble it.

And Stannis wasn’t frowning. Or grinding his teeth.

“ _Move_ , Ghost!” Sam hissed, but the wolf still stood determinedly in front of the door…

~

…as Jon looked at Stannis once more. The King of the Seven Kingdoms and the Lord of Winterfell had finished their discussion for the evening, and so Stannis and Jon had moved from the desk piled high with scrolls to the window where the waves could be heard crashing on the shore. This is where Jon found himself most nights. And if it wasn’t the windowsill, it was the balcony or the chairs by the fireplace in the same room. Regardless of the exact place, he wouldn’t trade the time he spent with Stannis alone, talking about everything and nothing, in silence more often than not—for anything.

 _Perhaps I’d trade it to find Arya, Bran, or Sansa._ Jon quickly suppressed that thought. _I’ll find them if it’s the last thing I do; me being the most powerful man in the North now has to count for something._

That evening, Lord Stark and been discussing his impending return to Winterfell, which he planned to do once Lord Seaworth had returned from the Stormlands. The Northern lords were anxious to return home and forget all the damned wars, now that spring was finally here and there was a Stark in Winterfell again. The King of the Seven Kingdoms saw the necessity of that, though strangely Stannis seemed loath for that day to come.

“I’d keep you here with me,” said Stannis to Jon, as a breeze gently wafted through the window. Jon could smell the salt from the sea. “Though you’d be miserable in this smoldering snake pit of a capitol. But you have duties to the North, and it would be wrong of me to keep you from them.”

“I’d still be less miserable than you.”

Stannis snorted.

If Jon hadn’t spent the last year or so at Stannis’ side, he’d have thought that finally sitting the Iron Throne would have made the man happier. Being recognized as king by all of Westeros had made Stannis more satisfied, certainly, as did bringing justice to those such as Mace Tyrell who had wronged the realm. But that was as positive an emotion as Jon could think of. He wondered what Stannis wanted, _truly_ wanted, what wishes he kept buried deep inside him.

Before Jon realized what he was doing, he spoke part of his thoughts out loud: “Do you think you would’ve been happier if King Robert had made you Lord of Storm’s End instead of Lord of Dragonstone?”

“Only fools waste time thinking on what could have been and what would have been,” came the immediate reply. “There’s nothing I can do to change the past, nothing anyone can do to change it.”

Stannis continued staring out to the sea. Jon thought he’d say nothing more on the subject, until Stannis started speaking again, more to himself than anything.

“Sometimes I wish that Robert had been the king that he was capable of being. Or at least heeded the advice of those who knew better and made the decisions he should have made. The realms would never have gone to war, and I could’ve lived out my days as Lord of Storm’s End.”

_He’s never wanted to be king, just as I’ve never wanted to be Lord Commander or Lord of Winterfell. But we’ve both gritted out teeth and accepted it, because it’s our duties. And rarely does a man get to choose his duties._

The two of them stood in silence for some time, Jon thinking about Stannis’ recent words. _I’d keep you here with me…_

“What would you have me do, Your Grace, if not be Lord of Winterfell?”

Stannis’ gaze drifted from the sea to him. “Sit on my small council. Command my Kingsguard.”

Jon stared at him. Out of all the things for the king to say…

“I need more people around me like Davos who will tell me the truth,” Stannis stated simply.

“You’d make a bastard the Lord Commander of your Kingsguard?”

The king looked irritated. “I’ve made a former smuggler my Hand and a legitimized bastard the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Do you really think I flinch at the titles or names a man has or doesn’t have, as long as he’s fully qualified for a position?”

 _No._ Jon knew that, but the leader of the Kingsguard was different than just the lord of this or that castle. “Bastards can sometimes inherit their father’s lands and titles, if no trueborn heirs are left. But the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is always a famous knight from a celebrated family.”

“And you think you’re neither? Did Eddard Stark’s maester teach you songs in place of history? The White Book will tell you differently.”

“I’m not a knight, for one, and though Eddard Stark was my father, I was still born a bastard.”

“Jon.”

Jon started. Not because of the hand that suddenly gripped his shoulder, but because Stannis had used his first name. He had only done so on a few occasions, and all those had been when…

“Do you think anyone of importance cares that you’re not Catelyn Tully’s son? Your northmen don’t, that’s for certain. When they look at you, all they see is a son of Eddard Stark, and that’s how it should be. You do look extraordinarily like him.”

“Is that all you see when you look at me, then? My father?” Jon tried to keep the hurt from his voice. His breath was also growing shorter. Perhaps that was in part to Stannis’ hand, which had moved from his shoulder to the side of his neck.

“Once I did. When I first met you at the Wall and only saw you as a boy, a tool to win the North to my side.”

“And now?” The hand had slid from Jon’s neck to just under his chin, tilting Jon’s face upwards.

“Now…” Stannis’ voice trailed off as he intently looked at him, his dark blue eyes not moving from Jon’s grey ones. “When I look at you I see a man. Not the brother who Robert always wanted, but the man who fought the dread creatures beyond the Wall with me, the man who holds his duty to his family above all else, and the man who’s never left my side when I needed him the most.”

Jon opened his mouth, but immediately realized that he didn’t know what to say. His eyes were still locked with his king’s, and Jon didn’t think he could look away even if he wanted to.

“Is your wolf still guarding the door, boy?” asked Stannis, his voice dangerously low.

Jon did his best to reach out to Ghost, trying to get a sense of him. Stannis seemed to suspect that there was some kind of link between him and his direwolf, though he had never directly asked. _Ghost…Ghost is sitting outside a door at the top of a steep staircase. That must be this door, then. He feels…relaxed? Good. That means there’s no danger outside this room._

“Yes,” Jon breathed, feeling the hand’s thumb trace his bottom lip. Without much warning, Stannis’ lips crashed against his own. Jon knew he should feel ashamed as he leant into the kiss, scrabbling with his hands at the king’s collar to pull him closer. Both of Stannis’ hands were now tangled up in his hair, fingers threading through and pulling at it, making Jon gasp. But Jon had been telling himself that for more months than he could count to no avail, been telling himself that he had only started this thing with Stannis because he had been extremely lonely and incredibly cold. The corner of the windowsill was digging into his back, but Jon didn’t notice the ache as he was more focused on Stannis’ mouth, which was now travelling along his jaw to that tender spot just below his ear. Jon shuddered, and he began to slide one of his hands down Stannis’ chest to grasp at the laces of his breeches.

Stannis, however, grabbed Jon’s hand by the wrist before it could do much of anything.

“Not here,” Stannis muttered, his eyes flickering towards the door off the solar that led to his bedchamber. A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “Would you be adverse finishing what we’ve started?”

Jon barely had time to shake his head in consent before he felt himself being dragged in that direction. Or perhaps he was the one pulling Stannis.

~

Just outside the door to the staircase, Sam had clapped both hands against his mouth to prevent himself from crying out. He was biting his lip hard as well, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he started to taste blood.

Stannis and Jon…the king and the Lord of the Winterfell…Jon and Stannis…

Sam had been waiting, _waiting_ , for the right time to interrupt the conversation so he could deliver Lord Seaworth’s letter and get back to bed, but the right moment never seemed to appear. When Stannis had asked Jon if Ghost was outside, Sam was sure that Ghost would hasten to his master’s side and give Sam the opening he wanted, but…Ghost just _sat_ there. Then the king had…

Sam fled to the bottom of the stairs in what felt like mere seconds, and he was so intent on getting away from the king’s solar that he didn’t notice the door until his body had crashed into it. The door was promptly opened by Ser Rolland, who looked as surprised to see Sam sprawled at the bottom of the stairs as Sam was to find himself there.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, Sam,” said the knight as he helped Sam to his feet and out into the hall.

“I…I…I did. It was white, with red eyes and a tail.”

Ser Rolland began to laugh.

“I’ll grant you, that particular ghost can be frightening at times, especially when you see all of its teeth. Given your encounter with our resident four-legged direwolf, I take it that Lord Stark and the king didn’t wish to be bothered? I did warn you.”

“Yes,” said Sam quickly, latching on to the excuse that Ser Rolland was readily giving him. “They did not wish to be disturbed.” _Don’t ask if I delivered the letter, don’t ask if I delivered the letter…_

But Ser Rolland simply shrugged, as if Sam’s tale didn’t surprise him in the least.

“Lord Stark often stays with His Grace most of the night, talking about the gods know what. Lord Seaworth does the same when he’s around, and has for close to twenty years, I’ve been told.”

 _Lord Seaworth? Does the same?_ His mind went back to Jon and Stannis and the windowsill. _I really hope that doesn’t mean what I’m thinking it means._

“I bid you goodnight, Sam. Though you look like you could do with a tonic or some dreamwine to calm your nerves. You seem to have suffered quite a fright.”

~

The next morning, after attending to Grand Maester Ebrose and promising Gilly to meet her, in the gardens after the midday meal, Sam forced himself to brave the ungodly spiral staircase once again. The king bid him enter as soon as he knocked, and Sam hastily placed the letter from Cape Wrath on his desk. Stannis examined the letter, fingering the grey ship seal.

“Did this raven just arrive?”

“Yyyyes, Your Grace,” replied Sam.

Stannis stared at him long and hard, and Sam knew that he was visibly trembling as the king’s deep blue eyes bored into him. Seemingly satisfied with Sam’s answer, Stannis broke the seal and read the contents of the letter with a faint smile on his face. _Gods, I wouldn’t know that the man was capable of smiling if I hadn’t seen him with Jon last night._

“Tarly, why are you still here?” Stannis was staring at him again.

“Wwwwould you like to send a reply?”

“In my own time, not with someone staring over my shoulder. If Lord Stark weren’t so fond of you, I’d send you back to the Citadel until you learned to stop stuttering.”

Once Sam shut the door, he descended the stairs as fast as he possibly could, praying to whatever gods were out there that Stannis never found out what he had seen the night before. This time, at least, Sam didn’t crash into the door.

Dolorous Edd was waiting for him outside the door, looking as cheerful as ever.

“Lord Stark wishes to see you, Maester Sam,” said Edd in a dull voice.

Sam didn’t bother to correct him about the maester title. All of his former Night’s Watch brothers who had marched south with Jon insisted on it. Sam had a sneaking suspicion that Pyp was behind the whole thing.

“He does?” squeaked Sam. The morning was not going well. The king might think nothing of it, but Jon would certainly ask what was wrong with him if he started stuttering and not meeting his eye when he spoke.

“I’m to escort you to his chambers at your earliest convenience.” Edd looked him up and down. “You look positively terrified. I’d be too. He’ll likely rise again if you kill him, Slayer. I wouldn’t be surprised if the king is too stubborn to remain dead for too long as well.”

He continued talking as Sam hurried behind.

“They’re a match, those two, and apart from looks I might mistake them for father and son.”

 _Oh, please don’t say that. That’ll only give me more nightmares. Stannis might have been my father, if my mother tells it true_. Last night Sam had decided against Ser Rolland’s recommendation of dreamwine, knowing how addicting the substance could be. That had been a mistake nonetheless. Sam couldn’t get the images of Stannis and Jon to disappear, and then those had morphed into his real father kissing Jon before shearing off Jon’s sword arm. _I must be going insane. Gilly. Think of Gilly._

~

Jon was sitting at his desk writing a letter when Sam entered his solar. Ghost was nowhere to be seen.

When Jon turned his head to the right, Sam noticed a new purple bruise below Jon’s ear at the juncture of his jaw and throat. Sam couldn’t help staring at it, for it wasn’t the type of bruise that a man got in a fight, but rather like one he would get when…Sam remembered how Jon had closed his eyes and tilted his head back as Stannis’ lips had moved from his mouth to his jawline…

“Are you okay, Sam?”

Sam blinked. Jon appeared concerned. _Gods, can I keep what I saw a secret? If I do, I’ll be thinking about it every time I talk to Jon, and he’ll keep asking questions until he riddles out the reason._

“You’ve been staring at me ever since you walked in the room, and you haven’t said a thing.”

“I just delivered a letter to the king from Lord Seaworth.”

Jon cocked his head, looking puzzled. “Was there terrible news?”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. The king seemed to be in a good mood when he read the letter. Perhaps that means that his Hand will be in the capitol soon.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem…”

“I tried to deliver the letter to Stannis last night, but when I got to his solar you were talking to him and thenyoustartedkissingeachother,” Sam blurted out before he could stop himself. _There. I said it._

To say that the Lord of Winterfell and former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch was stunned would have been a gross understatement. Jon had frozen, from his face to his fingertips, and he was staring wide-eyed at Sam like he’d been given the shock of his life. His mouth was slightly agape, and it took him a long while before he found his voice—and even that sounded like someone was strangling it.

“Where was Ghost? I was sure, positively _sure_ that he was outside guarding the door.”

“He was. But Ghost wasn’t trying to chase me away or anything, he just wanted to be petted. Maybe he didn’t think I was a threat.”

Jon muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Damn that wolf.” “How much did you overhear?” he asked quietly.

“Stannis said he would’ve made you the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard, if you weren’t already the Lord of Winterfell, and that he doesn’t see you as your father…” Sam’s voice trailed off, watching Jon’s expressions change from shock to alarm to utter mortification in a matter of seconds. Something then occurred to Sam, something about the familiarity he had seen between Stannis and Jon, about them walking down corridors side by side…

“That wasn’t the first time that happened. Was it.”

“No.” Jon stood up from his desk and made his way to the window, sighing and shaking his head.

“Then when did the affair start?”

“I wouldn’t call it an affair. Neither of us have wives who are currently living, and I can’t betray Ygritte any more than I already have. I don’t know _what_ to call it really, it’s just a thing we’ve fallen into.”

Jon’s eyes were fixed at some indeterminate point far north.

“To answer your question, it started at the Wall. _After_ I had been made Lord of Winterfell, not when I was still Lord Commander.”

“Were you both drunk?” Sam remembered how he and Gilly had been drunk on the _Cinnamon Wind’s_ fiery rum when they had fallen into bed together.

Jon turned back to Sam and narrowed his eyes. “Have you ever seen the king drink anything that isn’t water?”

“No, but I’d never seen him smile, either. At least not until he asked you to go to bed with him.”

Jon’s eyebrows rose at that, and it occurred to Sam that he’d never talked back to Jon in such a fashion. Especially since he’d become a lord.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Oh, you meant to say that, don’t try and convince me otherwise.”

Jon sighed again and ran both his hands through his hair.

“I guess I owe you an explanation.”

 _Yes._ But as much as Sam wanted one, he didn’t exactly believe that Jon would be that forthcoming. _Or that I even want him to_. “You’re a lord. You don’t have to give one if you don’t want to, for I’m sure you had a good reason.”

Jon gave Sam a twisted smile. “Do you know how well that tactic worked for me as Lord Commander? Assuming that my brothers understood the reasons behind my actions ultimately was the death of me. I don’t intend to make that mistake again.” Silence followed.

“It was cold.”

Sam looked at him incredulously. “It’s always cold at the Wall. Everyone knows that.”

“Not everyone knows _true_ cold. Do you remember how cold it was when you killed your White Walker, Sam?”

Sam did. He would never forget that feeling, just as he would never forget the sight of the Other moving toward him on a mutilated horse covered in hoarfrost.

“ _That’s_ how cold it was at the Wall when I marched back there with Stannis and his army. There were more wights and Others than anyone could count in the forest just on the other side of the Wall, and the cold they brought with them seemed to seep through the ice and rise over all 700 feet of it whenever there was a gust of wind. Imagine waking up to that every morning. Imagine falling asleep with that _true _cold settling all around you.__

__At Winterfell and at the Wall, we ended up spending more and more time together. It’s practically unheard of for a king to eat and joke with his soldiers in a mess hall, just like it’s unusual for a lord to do that. So we’d eat together more often not, and find ourselves talking, arguing, or simply standing together in silence time and time again. One night—it was full moon, I remember—it was awfully cold, even with a fire blazing and a heavy cloak around me. Stannis…He put a hand on my shoulder. I asked him if he was going to order me to leave. He replied that no, he wasn’t, but that he would never order me to stay. And then I kissed him. Or he kissed me. I swear to the gods I don’t know who moved first. I’ll spare you the details Sam, but that night I knew that I couldn’t stand to be alone, and neither did he.”_ _

___Loneliness. That’s one of the ways that Jon’s changed. He’s lonelier than ever; I don’t know why I haven’t realized that before._ That _must be why he’s so reluctant to say that Stannis trusts him, for if Stannis doesn’t it won’t hurt as much if Jon loses him like his father and siblings.__ _

__“Are you disappointed in me? Or disgusted?”_ _

__“What? Oh, no, I’m not. I don’t know.” Sam bit his lip, looking at Jon. He couldn’t hate Jon for that, and there were worse choices he could’ve made. “Not truly. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”_ _

__“You have no idea how lonely it is— _was_ —to be Lord Commander, Sam, or else you might never have plotted to make me the leader of the Night’s Watch.”_ _

__“It is any less lonely being Lord Stark?”_ _

__Jon let out a sad laugh and clenched and unclenched his sword hand._ _

__“No, not really. But I knew that when I finally accepted Stannis’ offer. At least this time no one will dare question me if I decide to send out an army to rescue Arya. Or Bran. Or Sansa.”_ _

__Sam didn’t really know what to say to that. But just because he didn’t know didn’t mean he couldn’t try. Things had gone remarkably well with Gilly, after all._ _

__“You’re not entirely alone, Jon. You still have friends; that’s why you had the king ask the Citadel to appoint me Maester of Winterfell when I earn my chain, right?”_ _

__“You got it all wrong. I don’t want you to be my maester because you’re my friend, because you’re not. You’re my brother, Samwell Tarly. Us not wearing black cloaks doesn’t change that.”_ _

__~_ _

__When he met Gilly at midday, Sam discovered where Ghost had slunk off to. Gilly was walking in the Red Keep’s gardens, accompanied by none other than a white direwolf. Whose claws might as well have been made of Valyrian steel. She was cradling her— _his_ —daughter, and little Aemon was toddling next to Ghost, giggling when the wolf tried to lick him._ _

__“Sam!” screeched Aemon, and Sam bent down to ruffle the boy’s head._ _

__“It’s good to see you Aemon. How is your mother?” Gilly had long ago decided to let Aemon call her mother, as she was the closest thing to one the boy had ever known._ _

__Aemon simply smiled at Sam, grabbing a fistful of the wolf’s white fur. Ghost tried to shake him off, but Aemon only laughed._ _

__“The two of them seem to get along well,” Sam mentioned to Gilly, who was smiling her sweet smile._ _

__“I’m no longer afraid of the wolf no more, Sam. Not like I was at home beyond the Wall. Lord Stark seemed rather hurt when I wouldn’t look him in the eye when I first met him here, but I kept thinking back to when he ordered me to leave my son behind. I haven’t tried to see him since then, but the wolf keeps appearing. Aemon likes playing with him, and the wolf is very protective of the children.”_ _

Maybe sending Ghost to Gilly is Jon’s way of trying to apologize to her. Hopefully now that Gilly isn’t afraid of the four-legged direwolf, she won’t flinch as much around the two-legged one.

__“Also, the wolf doesn’t ever bother me with silly questions, unlike the other two guards that Lord Stark gave me.”_ _

__Sam looked over his shoulder, only to see Pyp cheerfully striding toward him, Grenn at his heels. _Pyp and Grenn. At least they aren’t as gloomy as Dolorous Edd.__ _

__Pyp bowed to Gilly with a flourishing sweep of his arms. “My lady! How nice of you to acknowledge us. We are always at your service, as we just said…when, Grenn?”_ _

__“A half hour ago,” responded Grenn._ _

__“Right!” Pyp turned to Sam. “As I was telling all of our brothers last night over ale, none of us would ever have guessed that you’d be the first one of us to settle down with a woman, Slayer!”_ _

__Sam gave an apologetic look toward Gilly, who didn’t seem to mind. “It’s not how you think it is. Jon let…”_ _

__“Ah, good of you to mention Lord Stark. Remember the wildling princess? I’m sorry to say that she no longer wants to have your children. All the wildlings guarding Winterfell are taking bets on when Lord Stark will steal her, and Tormund Thunderbear or whatever his name is swears that he’ll swallow his sword whole if _she_ isn’t the one to steal _him_.”_ _

__“Val? I think Lord Stark has a lot more on his mind right now other than stealing pretty women.”_ _

__“True, true,” conceded Pyp. “I’ve never tried to rebuild a kingdom, myself. Though I’d eventually get fed up with only having duty as my mistress.”_ _

__

__THE SHORE_ _

__

__A few days before Lord Seaworth was due to arrive in King’s Landing, Jon found himself walking along the rocky shores of the Red Keep with the king. A knight of the Kingsguard followed at a respectful distance, naturally, along with Sam and Gilly. Gilly was enjoying collecting different seashells. Apart from one trip to White Harbor with his father and Robb as a boy, Jon had never seen the sea before, while Stannis had spent very little of his life away from it. The sea seemed to calm him, in a way that listening to wolves howling at night in the woods calmed Jon._ _

__“Davos writes that your brother’s black direwolf enjoys playing with his sons,” Stannis said to him. “I thought you’d wish to know that.”_ _

Stannis and Steffon Seaworth are about the same ages that Bran and Rickon would be, if they were still alive. _ _Not for the first time, Jon wondered if part of Rickon lived on in Shaggydog, and if his brothers had dreamed with their wolves like he did with Ghost._ _

__As if on cue, Ghost nosed Stannis’ hip. Stannis glanced down at the wolf and tentatively ruffled the fur on his head._ _

__“This wolf is just as insolent as you are.”_ _

__“At least he hasn’t chased you around in circles yet, Your Grace.”_ _

__Stannis laughed. The sound didn’t last very long, being swallowed up in the crash of the waves, but it made Jon smile nevertheless._ _

__~_ _

__Sam felt that the sea was much more pleasant when he wasn’t sailing on a ship during a storm. Gilly was fascinated with the shore and all the different things to be found there. She was fascinated by a lot of things in King’s Landing, though she had confessed to him that she missed the forest and the wilderness where she’d grown up. As he held his little daughter, Sam watched Stannis and Jon walk ahead of him. Occasionally, snippets of their conversation would reach his ears._ _

__Somewhere, Jon had acquired a white cloak. The think looked identical to the cloaks the Kingsguard wore, save that it was trimmed with grey._ _

__“Are you trying to mock me with that cloak of yours, Stark?”_ _

__“That is not my intent, Your Grace,” said Jon innocently. “Is it suddenly a crime for a lord to wear a cloak in his house colors?”_ _

__Stannis seethed and ground his teeth, but Sam didn’t think the king was truly angry. He didn’t exactly know what to call the relationship between Stannis and Jon. King and ally, friends, father and son…lovers…none of those labels seemed to fit.__ Perhaps it’s none of them, or a combination of all of them. Still, they’re making the best of their situation. Jon’s happier than when I last saw him at the Wall, at least I think he is in his own way.

__Sam felt his daughter’s little hand pull on the few links on his chain, bringing his mind back to her and Gilly. He couldn’t wait to call her whatever flower name Gilly eventually decided on, and perhaps Gilly could get those flowers to grow in Winterfell’s gardens. The thought of that filled him with such contentment, and when Gilly laced her arm through his, Sam realized that he was happy, truly happy for the first time in a very long while._ _

The best is still yet to come. The best is just beginning. Maybe there can be happy endings after all _ _ _._ _ _

__END_ _

**Author's Note:**

> “ _No happy choices_. Sam thought of all the trials that he and Gilly suffered…What had it all been for? _No happy choice and no happy endings_ ….The worst isn’t done. The worst is just beginning and there are no happy endings.”  
> Sam, _A Feast for Crows_ Samwell II
> 
> I’ve never written Sam in a story before, so I went through his chapters in ASOS and AFFC before starting this fic. Even though Sam really grows up during the Lord Commander elections at the end of ASOS, I was surprised that he’s still pretty much just as cowardly at the end of AFFC as when we meet him in AGOT—Jon has just commanded him to try and hide his fears. As well, Sam tends to think about Jon quite a lot when he’s not in the near vicinity.
> 
> -Sam fainting at seeing an eyeball dissection isn’t such a farfetched concept. While I was in undergrad, my human physiology professor decided to show the class a film of an eye surgery that she had recently undergone. After a few minutes, I realized that watching a six-foot eyeball (Thank you, projection screens!) being sliced into and staring back at me was making me feel sick, and my professor’s commentary (“This is where the surgeon accidentally nicked something not vital and blood floods my eye!”) wasn’t helping. I tried to surreptitiously leave the classroom, but I couldn’t make it out the door because I had fainted. Needless to say, I will never work as an eye surgeon, optometrist, or in any of those related fields.
> 
> -[This watercolor painting](http://gold-seven.deviantart.com/art/Jon-Snow-214916610) is one of the best representations of Jon Snow that I’ve found, and it’s very close to my head canon for what Jon looks like. I’ve linked it here because of how the artist drew the scars around Jon’s eye—they’re messy and irregular.


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